“Have a nice life, Maby.”
He walks away and doesn’t look back.
I’m not sure how long I stand outside. I go around the corner, so customers don’t see me weeping in front of the shop. A guy is leaning against the side of the building and when he sees me crying, he offers me a cigarette. I take it. I had a brief stint with smoking in college and it’s like riding a bike, you can always pick it right back up.
I replay the conversation, or rather all the things Coen said, over and over in my mind and feel so incredibly sorry for everything I’ve put him through. I feel terrible about it. But maybe if he thinks I’m with Saul, he can move forward with his life and get over me.
ANNA’S SOHO LOCATION doesn’t make it, and I can’t even feel happy about it shutting down. Business is going great for me and I can’t even fully enjoy it. I feel lost and empty. About everything. And then to make matters worse, Saul won’t leave me alone.
The changes are subtle and at first I think it’s my imagination, but he starts hanging around all the time and getting a little more touchy feely—like he used to be. We were that way with each other for so long that it’s easy to fall back into. And I’m gaping hole lonely.
I try to distance myself from him, but he just keeps coming back for more. Instead of confronting him, I shut down. I stop sleeping, my hair grows out and I start yanking it out. Paschal is horrified. He doesn’t know that’s what’s happening—and it’s not enough that everyone can tell—but he thinks I need to go to the doctor because I might have a disease that’s making my hair fall out.
I miss appointments with Dr. Still. I don’t want to disappoint her and this new hair thing is embarrassing. I’ll have to see her soon to get a refill on my prescriptions. Haven’t been running. Or doing yoga. But I’m smoking now, so at least I’m skinny.
I don’t know what I’d do without Melody and Kara. They keep the store going. I still do the purchasing, but I can do most of that from my apartment.
I know I’m losing it, but I can’t seem to stop it from happening this time.
PASCHAL COMES OVER one night and begs me to let him chop my hair off again. I agree to it, hoping it will help me stop pulling.
“What is this?” He holds up the cigarettes that are sitting on my kitchen counter. His whole face is one big scowl.
I scowl right back at him. “What does it look like?”
“You’re smoking? Ew. No wonder your apartment smells like a freaking ashtray. Come on, Maby. I’m worried about you. I wish you’d call Coen. You were so much happier with him.”
I light a cigarette and blow in his face. You’d think I’d set his body on fire, the way he leaps around the house, waving his arms wildly. I start laughing and can’t stop. And then I cry.
“I’m gonna be 29 next month,” I wail. “And look at me. I’m more of a mess than ever.”
He snuffs out my cigarette and pulls me to the couch, laying my head on his shoulder carefully, so I don’t mess up the hairdo he just gave me.
“You are a mess, but you’ve got lots of wonderful going on too. Your store! What about that?”
I shake my head. “It’s only a matter of time before I mess that up too,” I whisper.
He props me up and dries my face. “Who are you? You might be a mess, but you always pull yourself together. I don’t know what to do with this poor-me person in front of me right now.” He holds my chin in place. “I’m putting makeup on you and we’re getting out tonight. You’ve been working too hard and alone in this smelly apartment too long. Go shave your legs.”
“I don’t want to go out. Let’s just stay here.” I sniffle and force myself to smile so he doesn’t make me leave the house.
He pulls me off the couch. “GO.”
I obey and when we leave my apartment, I don’t even try to argue when he dumps my cigarettes down the garbage chute. I can always buy more.
We get in a taxi and go to a club not far from my place. I’ve only been there one other time. There’s a line to get in and the music is pumping every time the door opens.
“Are you sure we should go here? I’m not in the mood and besides, this place is too cool for me,” I mutter between my teeth.
“You look fabulous and we are gonna show off my skills.” Paschal’s eyes scale me like I’m his specimen. “I did damn good. Just smile.”
I’m midway through an eye roll when he grips my arm.
“What?” I ask, looking at him.
He’s looking in the door just before it closes and the bouncer stamps our hands.
“Nothing,” he smiles at me, “come on. Let’s do this.”
The bass pulses through my veins the minute we get inside. I feel it in my chest and have to move in spite of myself. Paschal starts dancing and pulls me out on the floor. He grinds against me while eyeing the guy next to us. I’m pretty sure if I stepped aside, they would be making out within minutes. When I try to do just that, he pulls me back to him.
“Nuh-uh, you’re not going anywhere,” he yells, shimmying down my body. “Dance!”
So I do. And Paschal is so lost in it that I get lost in it too. Paschal’s hands slide down the side of my body and he turns me this way and that, doing something between the salsa and dirty dancing. He turns me around, so my back is against his chest and holds my stomach into his waist, slowly circling his hips. I laugh and finally let go. It feels so good. I’m about to tell him how right he was to bring me here when his hands sweep over my boobs. My eyes get wide. He tilts me backwards and upright, flings me out and back to him, and then all of a sudden, he lets go.
“Getting drinks,” he tosses over his shoulder.
I stare after him, confused and then someone pulls me back against their chest.
“Uh, hang on a minute,” I say, trying to turn around. I’m swirled around and face to face with Coen.
He doesn’t smile. The word smolder comes to mind when I see his eyes and I don’t bother thinking anymore, I just move. Paschal’s little show makes sense now.
I dance with complete recklessness, every ounce of inhibition falling away. His intensity seeps into my pores and I can’t help but be caught up in it. The friction between us only serves to make every touch more compelling. One song goes into the next without stopping and I don’t want it to ever end.
He pulls me into him, our bodies sleek with sweat and desire, so that I feel every contour. I close my eyes and remember exactly how it felt to be with him. It’s so real and with the way his leg is grinding between my legs, a shudder runs through me right there. I gasp and hang onto him as a wave goes through me. When I open my eyes, the tiniest of smiles plays around his lips. He knows. He sees right through me.
Embarrassed, I pull away and the moment is broken. He lets go, turns around, and walks into the crowd of people.
I stand on my tiptoes, trying to see him, but too many people are in the way. Paschal seems to appear from thin air.
“Where were you?” I give him a light push in the chest.
“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” he says. “You guys made a baby right here in front of everyone.”
I give him a harder push this time.
“Where did he go? Do you see him now?”
“Oh, he left,” he answers. “Wanna see if he’s outside?”
I grab his hand and drag him outside. Coen is gone.
“Did you tell him we were here?” I ask.
Paschal shakes his head. “I learned my lesson after the last time. No. It was destiny.”
I groan. “I need a cigarette.”
“No, you don’t. You need to call Coen right now and finish what you guys started in there.”
OF COURSE I don’t call him.
I disintegrate. We get to the apartment and I’m frantic. The worse I feel, the more I talk myself out of ever calling Coen again. I’m right to stay away from him. Any time I think about how intense our chemistry is, I have 6 more thoughts to counteract it. I’m doing the r
ight thing.
I start pacing and then move to washing fanatically.
Paschal finally sees the reality of my mess. He hangs in there pretty well, but I scare him when I won’t stop. Normally I can wait until I’m alone, but seeing Coen shook me up too much. I cannot talk myself out of washing my hands and I don’t care enough to want to.
“You’ve gotta stop, Maby. Please. Your hands are raw,” he says, putting his hands on the back of my arms. “They’re bleeding. Maby!”
I shake him off and keep going. He leaves the room and I lose track of time. I just have to wash it all off. It won’t be okay unless I can wash it away.
I hear talking in the other room and panic, but ignore it. Coen walks into the bathroom and pulls me back from the sink. I push him away and keep washing.
I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine,” I say. It has to be 6 times or I won’t be fine.
“You’re going to be fine, but you need to stop washing your hands. Please, Maby. Stop. Paschal said you’ve been washing for an hour.”
“No,” I shake my head, “that’s not true. We haven’t even been home that long. I’m just gonna wash a few more times and then I’ll stop.” It’s all coming out very fast.
He picks me up and carries me away from the sink and I lose it. I flail around and he doesn’t let go. He carries me out of the apartment and holds me down in a cab. The cab driver says something, but I can’t hear it.
I’m mortified. I feel like my insides are eating away at me. I can’t breathe. I still can’t stop the dark from closing in.
I pass out.
I come to with a bright light. I get excited until I realize I’m alive. A doctor has a small flashlight and is peering into my eyes. My hands are bandaged and sting. I’m in a small ER room and a nurse is standing next to the doctor. Dr. Kerry, his name tag says.
“I’m fine. I just panicked. I’m fine now,” I tell him.
He ignores me and keeps looking me over, while the nurse has the blood pressure cuff on my arm. They go in and out a few times over the next couple of hours. I suppose they’re checking to see if I’m stable or not. When they decide I might be, the doctor comes back in and asks a series of questions.
“Have you had alcohol tonight?” he asks.
“No.”
“Any medication?”
I tell him the medication I’m on. “For OCD,” I add.
“Have you been taking it regularly?”
“I haven’t taken it in a week … or maybe two or three…”
“Do you frequently pass out?”
“Not very often, sometimes.”
“And do you know what caused it tonight?”
“I panicked when my friend stopped me from … washing my hands.” I feel so stupid when I say it, but there it is.
When I tell him I haven’t slept in a long time, he asks even more questions. He pauses and stares at me when I tell him how long I’ve actually gone without sleep. This seems to concern him as much as my raw hands and makes him think I’m suffering from severe depression. I snort.
“So you’re aware that you’re depressed?”
“Uh, yeah. Who isn’t aware that I’m depressed is the question.”
“Well, it sounds like a serious stretch of depression, nothing to take lightly,” he says with a frown. “Oftentimes depression and OCD go hand in hand.”
I glaze over a little. I want to act like a child and say, “No duh.” But I don’t.
“I want you to see your therapist on Monday. We can recommend another if you don’t feel like she’s helping. I’d also like you to see your family doctor. For now, I’ll give you something to help you sleep, but I want you to promise you’ll do these other things I’ve suggested.”
“Okay, I will.”
“It’s possible that your medication needs to be changed. Sometimes it takes a while to get that right.” He leans forward. “Now hear me when I say this: I know it can be very tempting to stop therapy, but try to fight that urge. Medication doesn’t always work for everyone, but it sounds like it has been successful with you … when you take it regularly. So stay on top of both of those things. Especially if you’re not sleeping—think of that as a huge red glowing indicator that you need to get back on track.”
He pats my arm and smiles kindly. His kindness makes my eyes water.
“I looked like an idiot in front of the guy I like.” I sniff.
“We’ve all done that at some point or another,” he says gently. He stands up. “Do whatever you have to do to get some sleep. You’re overdue a good long rest.”
“I can’t afford a good long rest,” I mumble, but not loud enough for him to hear me.
While I’m waiting for the nurse to come back in and give me discharge papers, Coen steps in the doorway. I can hardly look at him. He comes over and sits on the bed. I’m glad he doesn’t hesitate to be near me. When we finally make eye contact, he looks exhausted and afraid. I start to cry. He pulls me into his arms and holds me tight.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“I should have never walked away from you,” he says. “Not months ago. Not tonight. I’ve just been so angry. I haven’t known what to do with all the anger. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
I lean away from him. “This isn’t your fault, Coen. This is me. I haven’t wanted you to see this, but this is me and I don’t know how to change it. I…”
The nurse walks in and has me sign the forms. She gives me a prescription and instructs me how to take it. When she walks out, Dr. Kerry walks back in.
He stops when he sees Coen and asks for another moment with me alone. Coen steps out and the doctor steps closer.
“I don’t typically do what I’m about to do, but … I’ve struggled with OCD myself and so I feel sympathetic to what you’re going through.” He takes off his glasses and rubs his nose. “I want to recommend a holistic doctor to you. He has more leeway with certain things than I do here at the hospital.” He steps even closer and talks softly. “I’ve found a certain … herb … to be more helpful than medication. For me, anyway.” He looks at me pointedly and my eyes get wide.
He nods when he knows that I understand what he’s saying.
“He’s located in New Jersey, is the only catch. Things aren’t legal here yet … that will hopefully change soon, but … for now, New Jersey is manageable. Yes?”
I’m too speechless to answer.
He taps his clipboard and walks to the door. “Please go through him and not elsewhere. He’ll give you the correct dosage, tell you the best ways to ingest … he can be reached on Saturdays.” He gives me a big smile and walks out.
Paschal and Coen both walk in once the doctor leaves. Paschal looks guilty.
“Please don’t be mad at me for calling him,” he whispers when he hugs me. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry I flipped,” I say sheepishly.
He waves his hand. “Don’t apologize. You do keep things exciting,” he teases, giving me a wobbly smile.
“Do you have someone who can watch the store for you this weekend?” Coen asks, stepping up beside Paschal.
“Melody works Saturdays and I’m not open as long on Sundays. Melody might be able to cover it too.”
“Would you be willing to come home with me for a couple days?” he asks. “I’ll make everyone leave you alone so you can just rest, but I really … please? I’d love it if you did.”
I look at him and am so torn. Everything in me is screaming to go with him, but my heart is wrestling with exposing myself even more. I know after the night I’ve had, I’m going to shut down. I can feel the exhaustion already and I haven’t even taken the medicine yet.
“You don’t have to decide anything about … anything,” he says. “Just please let me take care of you this weekend.”
I nod and he lets out a huge exhale.
WE STOP BY my place and get a bag together. I text Saul so he doesn’t worry
if he comes over during the weekend. I feel bad for telling him I’m going to Coen’s via text, but it’s the middle of the night.
He answers back right away.
Saul: You’re back with coffee guy??? When were you gonna tell me?
I had a rough night. Paschal called him. I’m gonna stay at his parents’ for a couple days.
I don’t offer any more than that. I don’t know any more than that.
Saul: You should have called me.
I don’t answer. I already feel guilty enough about Saul. Even though I haven’t slept with him again, we’ve been together so much, it felt inevitable. I’ve been avoiding it with everything, but … too many more nights of loneliness and I can’t say I wouldn’t eventually cave.
I hate how weak I am.
Coen and I don’t talk much on the drive out of town. He asks if I’m hot or cold. I have my blanket wrapped around me and tell him I’m fine.
“Please don’t ever tell me you’re fine again.” He stares at me before turning back to the road. “Unless you really mean it…”
“Fair enough,” I answer.
It’s 3 in the morning when we pull into the long driveway. I breathe in deeply through my nose and lean my head back against the seat while we pass the nursery and the house and then pull up to the barn. I’m terrified with how good it feels to be back.
We go inside and I can’t look at him. I think he’s avoiding looking at me too. He carries my bag upstairs and then turns around to go back down.
“I’ll be on the couch if you need me,” he says. “Do you need anything? Oh, I’ll grab water for you…”
“Thank you.”
I put on my favorite black tank top and hot pink shorts. Coen comes back up with a water bottle and sets it on the table beside the bed.
“Night…” he says as he’s going downstairs.
“Night…”
I take the medicine and lean back. Ahh, Coen’s pillow. I pull his blankets up around my chin and close my eyes. The exhaustion is thick and suffocating, taking me under. I keep drifting off and jumping awake, feeling like I’m falling.